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Mentorship Project, Second Lesson

Thu Jan 29, 2015, 5:35 PM


Hello, my dear mentors and mentees! :salute: I hope the first lesson went well for all of you. Thankfully, it was a very basic one so even if you couldn't finish up with it, you're not missing something that will hinder your understanding of the second lesson. Be careful, however: we're starting to focus on specific aspects now, so close following is best. (:

First things first



We have interviewed some great deviants for you: in tWR Interviews: Prose and Poetry Basics, we interviewed Carmalain7, Vigilo, TwilightPoetess and jade-pandora for poetry, and LiliWrites and illuminara for prose. :la: please check it out! And maybe give it a fav:+fav: because it deserves the exposure. :P

Poetry Course - Lesson 2



As with the first lesson, we will be providing you with resources/articles on the lesson subject, and related activities.

This second lesson focuses on verses, stanza, linebreak and a few other basics (such as punctuation).

The Resources/Articles



Punctuation, Part 1 and Part Two
The Linebreak
Primer on the poetic line (offsite article)
A more in-depth article about line, meter, stresses and so on. (a bit more advanced maybe, but such an amazing resource - offsite, again)
About stanza breaks (offsite article too)

As before, a warning: Some of these articles may repeat each other, some may give different kinds of advice for the same topic - you can read them all, your mentor can read them and then explain to you, you can choose a few or just one to read; it's really all up to you. We're giving you the tools, but you shape your own course together.

The Activities



:bulletblack: if the mentee is at a very early stage in their writing, we recommend taking some poems from deviantArt or offsite of the mentor's preference, then highlight their different parts and describe what they do together. Don't underestimate the power of such a simple exercise!

:bulletred: write a poem, or pick one the mentee/mentor has already written, and rewrite it changing the stanza division, linebreaks, verse structure and punctuation. For example: if your start poem is made up of three stanzas, each with six verses, with run-on lines and say, rare punctuation - mix it up! Make it one single stanza, with end-stopping lines and rich use of punctuation. This will help show you how the structure of the poem affects how the message is conveyed and perceived! It doesn't matter if the end result is good, or terrible in your eyes. It's about stepping out of your comfort zone.

This kind of activity is really broad - another thing you could do is choosing a poem that is fixed form, and turning it into free verse, completely altering his structure but leaving its meaning intact.

Feel like taking it further? Then alter its structure, but change no words. You can change their form - make a verb into its noun, and so on -, and where they are in the poem, but that's it!

So what do you want to see from us before the lesson is over?



From the two activities above, if you do happen to write a piece resulting from the second exercise, please note us Note a link to it so we can include it in our Mentorship Project folder.

The first activity will be completed between mentor and mentee only, no need to note us your considerations. 

Do you need someplace to meet up and talk? A great idea is exchanging skype details, or meet up in theWrittenRevolution's chatroom, it's at your disposal. (:

Prose Course - Lesson 2



As with the first lesson, we will be providing you with resources/articles on the lesson subject, and related activities.

This second lesson focuses on paragraph division and dialogue.

The Resources/Articles



Paragraph Division
Writing Tips: Dialogue
Dialogue Lesson
How to Construct a Fictional Conversation

As before, a warning: Some of these articles may repeat each other, some may give different kinds of advice for the same topic - you can read them all, your mentor can read them and then explain to you, you can choose a few or just one to read; it's really all up to you. We're giving you the tools, but you shape your own course together.

The Activities



Bullet; Red mentees write some experimental prose pieces, playing with dialogue. For example, a dialogue-only piece: which they can then try to turn into a narration-only piece, or a piece alternating direct and indirect dialogue. As always, it's not about the quality of the final product, but about practice and exercise!

Bullet; Black mentor takes a short story from anywhere they want and takes out all the paragraph division, making it become a nice wall-o-text. Mentee puts in all the divisions as they see fit, and then discusses the final product with their mentor.

So what do you want to see from us before the lesson is over?



From the two activities above, if you do happen to write a piece resulting from the first exercise, please note us Note a link to it so we can include it in our Mentorship Project folder.

The second activity will be completed between mentor and mentee only, no need to note us your considerations. 

Do you need someplace to meet up and talk? A great idea is exchanging skype details, or meet up in theWrittenRevolution's chatroom, it's at your disposal. (:

So, what do we do now?



Now you start working on your lesson! :la:

Poetry fellows, your next lesson will be posted on February 12th!



Prose friends, your next lesson will be posted on February 19th!



Why the different duration, you ask? Well, we feel that the prose lesson is slightly more "requiring" than the prose one, and so deserves some more time. (: this will happen pretty often! Lessons will rarely go out at the same time for both courses, since the subjects differ so much.

If you need anything...



Please note the group and let us know any concern you have, or clarification/advice that is needed. Heart we're here to help! Just a note:note: away.

>>All hail ginkgografix for this beautiful skin.

Who's Who On Da: Issue 2

Thu Jan 29, 2015, 10:42 PM by Medoriko:iconmedoriko:

Hey everybody! Medoriko here with something I have been wanting to do for awhile. Heart I enjoy doing feature articles, but I have realized more and more that a lot of features people do (and I'm super guilty of this) involve people that are more known in the literature community here. Or, in my case, it's a feature of people I'm good buddies with. There's an incredible amount of talent hiding in the corners of dA, and I want to give some spotlight to those that haven't gotten the recognition they deserve. We have all been there, and you gotta start somewhere right? Sometimes that's the push we need when we're new to dA, and just getting started. This is also for deviants who aren't new, but may be under the radar a bit. Either way, this is a good way to get some glimpse into who's out there in this big world that is the lit community on deviantArt.

 

Thus the entire point of this feature article series I'd like to call: “Who's Who on dA”. It will be feature articles spotlighting some lesser known dA writers. Hopefully, this will serve to get some views/attention their way. Or, at the very least, make their day for a bit. Love

 

If you have any people in mind that you think should be featured in any of the Who's Who Issues, feel free to note me privately with their dA name, why you think they should be featured, and maybe some pieces you think need to be included. 



I'm sure you yourself know plenty of talented people writers in the lit community. 

Now, onwards to Issue 2! :la::heart:


Toetag001


DollThere was a doll made of ugly clay
that a lonely muse created one day.
Hair of moss and eyes of emerald and amethyst,
she was put upon a shelf and forgotten.
One day a man who was walking alone,
stole the doll away for his own.
He gave it to his son out of love,
but the son already had a favorite one.
So the new doll was forgotten by the boy
in the shadow of the other toy.
She would shed silver tears alone
while he dressed the other doll in robes of gold.
HushedThe music stops, the void is again emptied,
my ears fed only whirring and ringing.
The tears blur my sight,
and my hands are too frozen to move.
I am trapped in silence
and it's driving me insane.
Crushed by a HeelI want to go to all places,
see every person,
kiss every flower,
hear every song sung.
But they cut my wings,
they don't want me to fly.
They laugh and they cheer
while I scream and I cry.

The Crew of the ShannonI awoke to Snippers crawling on my chest, pawing at my lips to wake me. The ship rocked back and forth violently, so much so that I tripped when I stood. I grabbed my assets and ran out the door, rain pouring from gray, menacing clouds above, lightning flashing and thunder crackling, the winds whipping about the strands of what was left of my ship's once glorious sails. I ran down below, screaming in an effort to rouse my crew to come and aid the ship, but they lay still, unmoving in their hammocks. I approached my first mate and hit his shoulder, flipping him out of his and kicking him on the floor. "Get up you flithy idiot, all hands a-deck!" I screamed, but nary did he move. I knelt with as much balance as a drunkard and shook him by the shoulders, crying for him to wake. He was cold, still, stiff... "D-dead?!" I whispered to myself in terror, stumbling back into another of the crew's hammocks. Riled, he coughed, and moaned in agony. I turned and held his shivering hands, tears gush The Mirror Eleanor        There exists, somewhere in some place, a mirror, with a bronze frame in a twisted fashion. It is no ordinary looking-glass, however, as it contains magical properties unexplained by geniuses. Crafted by a dying fey king, it's as beautiful as it is terrible, as lively as it is stagnant. This mirror, which is called Eleanor, is very old and has been owned by many souls in the time it has existed.
        One such owner was a very wealthy man with a handsome son. The son was sought after by many women, some after his face and others his inheritance, but none he was foolish enough to keep. However, the son was quite a smart fellow, and would test the ladies, often teaching them a lesson of vanity and greed, in a strange routine: The son brought the dame to his household for dinner, and afterwards strolled arm in arm with her down a decored hall, into a lavish library, where hung the mirror Eleanor, hidden behind a sheet. The son excused himse
The Scarecrow, the Garden, and the Firey Snake                There was once upon a time, in another land, a Scarecrow, who stood watch over a rose garden. (Why you'd put a scarecrow in a rose garden, nobody knows...) She loved this garden with all of her straw heart, and protected it day and night. (While the crows ate the corn in the field where any other farmer would've put her, but I digress ^^; ) One day, a snake made of fire threatened to burn all of the roses to ash. The scarecrow was sad at this, she didn't want to lose her lovely garden. So, right as the snake came slithering in, she picked it up and walked into a river, destroying the snake. But alas, her straw burned up and she was no more. However, her ashes spread among the garden, and the roses bloomed ever so beautifully...


Amarantheans


My love the moon.
Winter's white blanket,
caresses the ground so tight.
I look up into the sky,
bathed in reflected light.
She calls to me,
the lovely gentle moon.
I sigh as she hides,
the clouds they make her swoon.
To say I love her,
would do my heart no justice.
Love is just a simple word,
not great enough for the way I feel.
Can there be no other emotion,
Lust is closer but it is not this real?
Looking up at her heavenly body,
I grow jealous of the stars.
I may be closer to her,
Yet up there it dosen't seem so far.
Winter is slowly biting into my bones,
goodby my love, I turn away.
With all my love- Earth.
GoldenMountain peaks draw her,
Closer down, bringing us light,
From golden bosoms.
Resolved!Resolution
I promise to,
remember,
what I say.
I promise to,
do,
what I write.
I will...
Lose 30 pounds,
I am too hungry!
Go on vacation,
As soon as I finish.
Eat healthy,
One more candy bar.
Go to church,
Next Sunday.
Be Nice,
You son of a B****!
Not be a pushover,
Your right I’m dumb.
Get more organized,
Just throw that over there.
To accomplish goals,
After this nap.
Be more active,
I need to rest.
I Promise,
Not to change,
Ever!

How to Eat a SoulScene 1
The sun shines brightly through the window directly onto a purple chase where Jena sees her fathers form relaxing as she wakes. Her eyes light up with excitement as she has not seen him in weeks. She rushes over to his side and kneels down and lets out a breath that she had not realized she was holding, as she looks up at her fathers face.
“I have missed you so, daddy! When did you get back?” She jumps up beside him on the chase. What she wouldn’t give to be able to wrap him in a giant hug.
“I never left, love. You know I always look over you.” He insists. “Well, we don’t get to talk long this morning, I think I hear your mother outside the door.”
Jena’s shoulders drop and she lets out a sad sigh. “Daddy, why doesn’t she like it when I talk to you?”
He looks her in the eyes and shakes his head. “She doesn’t understand, that’s all. I love you, sweetie.”
“I love you too daddy.
Letter to AuthorsAny Author,
You are an author whether or not you are published. The day that you sit down and start typing or putting pen to paper; you become an author. I know that alot of us belittle ourselves everytime that someone asks us, what we do. "Oh, I am a writer but not published." That is what we say, before giving the other person a chance to give us feedback. We have already severed the connection.
From this day onward, when someone asks what it is you do, you tell them; "I am a writer." Then you stop, don't add that next part, they may ask what you write. You know what, the person you are talking to may be interested in your work. Even better, the one person that you are talking to might just be what is standing in between you and being published.
I would be lying if I said that I have never uttered that statement followed by the words, but not published. Today, let us agree to never utter those words again. Today, let us stand together because we are writers and we are authors. We too
Twilights DanceIn a moonless night,
watching twilight dance around,
circling the heavens.


Jchrispole


Mechanical affairs a JCP Short storyIt was nearing the late afternoon and the sun shone like a spotlight through the dirty, old kitchen window. Well, that isn’t the way I would have explained it, I’m not that poetic. However I did want to start off this story with a nice bit of imagery. What was I talking about? Oh yeah. So I was in the kitchen making myself a sandwich. That doesn’t sound nearly as pretty as before but what can you do. I would have asked one of the workers who were on break to do it but it was the weekends and a holiday was coming up so pretty much everybody except a few select people left and aren’t coming back until Tuesday. I however live here so I’m not going anywhere.
I was making a sandwich called the Albatross and the reason why I named it after a bird is because my boss really likes birds so practically everything here has something to do with them either in name or in shape. The house I live in is called “The Owl Nest.” From the outside, it just looks li
Taste For AdventureGraham woke up the same time every morning. 8:37 A.M. It was something that she had done over and over and over again since she was taken in by the priests. As she opened her eyes and took in the sight of the bright light pouring in from the window, highlighting her blue and white quilt and the wooden floor of her quarters, she had a strong urge to just keep right on sleeping. But she couldn’t just sleep the day away; for the same reason why she didn’t anyday. she had duties to attend to in the monastery.
Sluggishly, she sat up and wiped the clumped up hair out of her eyes. She pushed away the thick quilt and pulled her feet out from underneath, allowing her to swing around and place them by her bedside. she stood up and stretched a little, attempting to purge the last bit of sleepiness from her body. She stared out the somewhat dirty glass of the large window just by her bed. Outside was Asphodel, arguably one of the prettiest regions in the land.
Fingers of continental la
Twisting in the WindAs the mighty sun stares down upon the deep expanse of the American desert wasteland, the heat roasts the floor of the biome like a crucible, turning each individual grain of sand into embers which fly on the wings of invisible birds of wind, smashing into the settlers and ranchers of the land as they attempt to live in this unforgiving land, fighting the harshness of the terrain. Many who live in places to the East, where new fancy gizmos such as the automobile and the radio create the closest thing to a paradise since the Garden of Eden, never seem to acknowledge the hardships of the West. But anybody who has ever gone out there and returned alive could tell you otherwise.
But even with the pain of living in the Desert, many still did. This included the lone rancher who stood in his patch in front of his farmhouse, tending to the short rows of crops that sat boxed in by a dried out, cracking wooden fence. As the sweat accumulated in colonies across his forehead, he reached up with th
 

-Better World: Chapter 1-
    Snow fell all the time in Everfall, that’s why it was named “Everfall: the land of endless snowfall.” Appropriate title, one would think. Though on this dull afternoon, the snowing had subsided to a light drizzle, resulting in a few single snowflakes fluttering down from the heavens. To Deci, they were just barely visible; like particles of dust in a dimly lit room.
       For what felt like an hour, Deci had been lying on her back staring up at the sky. She was waiting to begin her lesson with Master Flame, a scholar from a university in one of the larger human cities as well as the man that Deci’s father had hired to teach her about Everfall history and magic. He was late, once again, so Deci had to wait in the courtyard of Maulmarch Manor for him once again.
       The courtyard had been blanketed by a thick sheet of snow, at least a foot deep. But to Deci, it only felt like an 8th of an inch thick. So ins
SH!FT: Introduction
Nothing. That’s what the man felt. Nothing. Not the kind of nothing where there are no emotions. The kind where you aren’t taking in the sights you see in your eyes, the sounds you hear in your ears, taking the data that your body, the piece of mechanical ingenuity that it is, and not looking over it, not studying or observing the things you see. He was just lying there, with nothing else to do.
The reason behind this was simple….there was nothing to feel. For who knows how long the unnamed figure had been lying down on the hard wooden floor staring up at the ceiling. He couldn’t remember anything. He couldn’t remember where he was, how much time had passed, what he was doing, what had happened to cause him to end up here. He couldn’t remember faces, names, events, stories, ideas. He couldn’t remember when he had woken up or why he was asleep to begin with. He couldn’t even remember his own name.
He was not quite sure at what time did he
Science Fairs aren't always FairThe Science Fair is the first time when a child can properly experience a real panic attack. Especially if you’re a slacker. For most B+ average kids, they just want to do it and be done with it. Most C+ average kids want the same thing, but not quite hard enough to get off their little rumps and do it.
Albert was a C+ average student. Not necessarily his fault if you ask him. He was planning on getting around to making his project, he just didn’t account for how soon the Fair would be. Even though he was given a nine months notice. So the day arrived much quicker than he thought it would and that's when he realised that he had spent zero percent of the nine months doing anything but sitting on the couch watching TV. He had to consider his options which was the alternative project that could be done in five seconds; like the cup filled with dirt or the “which brand of paper towel is stronger” project.
Of course, he was saved when he remembered not too long ago,


sleepysheepdog


ares and the beads of bloodbath sweatthis is how the world expects a girl like
me to live: dressed in a shapeless sackcloth
ready to shove it hastily up to my ribs for
easy access and to hang my strawstuck hair
haloing my head in stigma in solitude in
wretched isolation. if i needed to ask
for approval to come into contact with
flesh sparking to electric volts; if i
must first be allowed permission to drop
to my knees and undulate, to kneel and
nod in acquiescence for your hips & hailfire;
if you have to grant me a concession for
intimacy; if i must plea for union; if i
should clamor for the phantom of a body
to hover over my body the way it only can
in the
dark hymn
of winter solstice
the prehorizon madness
of dusktime murmurs
if i am required to scrape myself raw in
supplication for something existence owes
me for surviving this world wielding its
hydrawhips, i defy it. whether or not
you grant me the inner sanctum of your
forearms whether or not you ask me to
treat the tendons of your neck like
raindrop remnants staine
hephaestus and the auroral constellationsthe joy like champagnebubble glass globes, tinkling
little crystal balls reflecting pinkish blue and greenish
orange, the unspectrum of colors where everything bleeds
together. i have been bleeding for longer than the colors
have known to blend and breach each other's wary boundaries
i have been bleeding sterile air in dirty bathtubs
i have been shedding hair like a winter coat
i have been unbound from the savory savior vines of ivy
and the new year marches onward, not dragging me tied
to its exhaust pipe across the molten tarmac streets like
i thought it would. it's kissing me solid and still, all my transparency
caramelizing and becoming depth you'd have to dig for;
my scabs sinking into skin, not vanishing or vanquished, but
given leave to leave. given space to breathe without the threat
of infection hanging constantly overhead. the new year took me
to pei wei for spicy tofu and brown rice, the new year cared about
my triggers (no restaurants, no pasta, no thick cake slices,
no assu
to the boy who made the world vanishmy capacity for breathlessness, my susceptibility
to stimuli is shocking and soft when i tilt my
chin up, seeking the holistic wholeharbor of the
streetlamp and your mouth. how sober, sober, so
shockingly
softly
sober
you were.
as peregrine and cottonballed as the last
flap of cardinal wings, ruffling air with
color and a corruptedangel grace. just a sip
just a few sips from the mouth with the lip
ring, the mouth blotting worry and high tides,
the mouth attached to the inked body branded with
three crying women. the fates, i told him, maybe
he had stamped himself with past present future
and suddenly he tapped the longhaired waif weeping
on his right bicep, said it was his mother; his
past; a woman he'd loved once.
and who is holding the needle now, i wanted to ask.
who holds the scissors, who cuts the strings? and
most tremendously
do they know if we
will ever
meet again?

moonface and her crater pearlsnews years night, a mad rush through weddingrice
fireworks and grimfaced bouncers stationed like
queen's guards outside clubs. new years, stepping
out of snake territory and into the pasture of
awaiting sheep, whirls of wool and calm chewing;
maybe this year my shame will be sucked down the
drain or be thrown far away like a javelin like
a oneway ticket to timbuktu; maybe this will be
the year of calm chewing. the year of fine tuning
my palate to sample and accept the morsels of
soft living and hard living and raspberry living
and grapefruit living. this could be the year of
keeping it down. how you start your year is how
you end it, say the sacred spirits and the little
snubnosed sages. well, then. here is how i'll
end the year: bedridden from bronchitis grabbing
my lungs like a terrible twosomed toddler throwing
a tantrum, bedridden after busting my eardreams
trying to hear past swooping euphoria, blankettucked
after determinedly partying & playing pool with
a shark & rummaging throu
king basilisk and the mangernoticing light like exiting a briarprickly
maze, having it slide over you like waking
up covered in his jacket or understanding
just how practical & mundane & sudden real
magic actually is, how it swoops down and
builds its nest right where your hair hides
the nape of your neck. how it never shouts
or yells. how it doesn't belittle or idolize
you. it doesn't make you better. it just
makes you aware that you're holding your breath
because you, more than anything, don't want to
startle this little and immense sliver of
shiverment away. so much of your life spent
murmuring into the pillow, Be a good girl. Be
quieter and more respectful. Be compact. but
you are a hothouse flower you are a crystal
chrysalis of an ornament hanging on the thinnest
string of stability you are sly dark movements
in a hidden dark place on a foreboding dark night.
you are irreconcilable with good girl antics
and good girl promises. would you know crisp white
button down shirts for the metaphors they are?
you don'
to the littlest goddess, whose shield is thundereven when my body has chills from ricocheting off
the deadly frozen icecavern walls of tooearly morning,
3 am, having slithered into a pile of delicate wash
clothing straight from the dryer, piping hot,
my body as wooden
as pinocchio's and
as smoothflanked as a
sharpened knife's
with all this skin under skin and childish blood
under wise blood and trepidatious knees quaking from
temperature. even when my body is absorbing change
as merciless as pulling apart helpless hunks of beef,
the tug and resistance of muscle and nicked gullet.
even when
my body
undergoes the carnage of the journey home. even
when dido climbs into the funeral pyre in front
of me, using aeneas' sword to run herself through
as if she made him use his own hand. even when that
is how i best identify with the way love returns to us.
my love, you were always going to touch darkness,
cut it into smoky-tendriled strips to tie around
your emboldened biceps. my love, you were always
going to bite the jugfanged vipers back a


crystallized-skies


2am poetry (you're always the subject line)I wish that you were still here by my side
instead of nestled in between the lines of my 2am poetry
because you deserve a better home than that
your name sits fervently on my lips
because I hope that with a whisper of those 5 little letters
that I can pull you from within the inscriptions on my
tree trunk ribs like a magician
pulling a rabbit from his silken hat.
I want to feel your words breathing down my neck
and your hands pressed against my quivering spine
as I stand at the edge of indecision--
you made me fear the fight rather than the fall
and now I'm addicted to the
the feeling of your wind beneath my wings.
we were an odd couple of misfits but we fit together:
you as the harmony and I the melody of a song no one else heard;
too many times I spent playing our soundtrack on repeat
as I danced across my room spinning &&
humming in the cold shadows of my lonely nights.
I wish that you were still here by my side
instead of nestled in between the lines of my 2am poetry
because I dese
toxic tulipsdelicate and ravishing
you kissed my soul raw
until it was bleeding into your
open palms.
dangerously addicting,
you tasted like poison—
the voice inside my head was
screaming and pitching
but I still drank you ‘til
the last drop.
verbatimthey say opposites attract and I guess they’re right
because I was attracted to you since the day we met
with those wild green eyes and your alluring words that made
me feel more comfortable in my own skin than
I have ever I felt in twenty years of existence,
you were a foreign taste to me that I began to crave
so insatiably that my angel became my devil’s advocate
and suddenly troubled waters turned into stormy seas
and all I remember are
the long days and hard nights
that were clouded with loud voices and
screaming
lots and lots of screaming
and tears so many tears
that i’m surprised i had
any to spare
but in the cacophony  
of clashing words and late night movie dates
we sparked
we ignited
we burned
you were the fire to my gasoline and it became
impossible to wash your ashes from my skin
you were painted on me;
it was our own Mona Lisa except she was frowning,
frowning because one of your hands was around my waist
and the other was pointed towards the sky
you

Oblivionyour hands clutch the steering
wheel loosely as we speed
down the highway
while mine fidget in my lap
passively pulling at a loose
string on my shirt,
but we’re not thinking
about our hands or how fast
we’re racing down this road
because I have stars in my eyes and
you have stars in your mouth
and we're singing at the
top of our lungs as if
our lives depended upon it.
sitting here next to you everything
is starting to shift and that's
when I feel it—
as if I'm splintering into
a million pieces and then
being rebuilt by your
delicately calloused hands;
my world has narrowed to
this pinpoint moment
that’s shining with a
million different colors
and there's a reckless peace
that feels so right it
has to be
wrong.
you have cornered me
in this infinite
oblivion and I'm not
quite sure what to do
because we're no longer
going 80 down a 55 and
I don't hear my best friend
spilling her heart out in
your back seat hell
I can't even feel my own
body anymore,
it's j
reflections.i.
wet feet in the sand,
as foreign waves lap
at my toes enticing
me with wonders to come
ii.
the days meld together
into a blur of shadows
with names--
but you, you still
burn within
my veins.
iii.
all work and no play
makes
me feel
c a g e d.
iv.
i’ve traded soft shores
for rocky roads that
lead to places i’m
not sure i want to go.
v.
i’m staring into the
eye of the storm,
hands trembling;
i don’t know
if i’ll make it out
alive...
vi.
i’m walking on eggshells
vii.
i imagine all the things
we could be
viii.
i’m listening to the
same playlist but
there’s something sad
about these songs
ix.
tranquility has finally
settled between the
spaces of my ribs
and it feels n i c e
x.
i feel the cracks
creeping up my spine
as your hands dance
like ghosts across
my cheeks--
i’m breaking in more
ways than
one.
xi.
the tides are changing
and I can’t help but
feel like i’m drowning.
xii.
breathe.
breathe.
b r e a t h e.
you ha
it's after midnightraindrops
trickle down my back,
running along
the curvature of
my spine like two
lovers chasing after their
happily-ever-afters.
the wind is whipping
the trees back and forth
as if they’re living metronomes
rocking in time
to the frantic fluttering
of the heart swinging
haphazardly on
my sleeve.
I look up into the
cracking sky watching
its imperfections flash
before my starry eyes as
its icy fingers reach
down to stroke my
chilled cheekbones--
his touch was as
soft as yours.


Omarius99


Robotic TendenciesA grinding of the gears
A fracture of the heart
Bottle up those tears
Before I fall apart
I can hear a whisper
I must make a choice
Ride the brutal twister
Or become a silenced voice
All you wanted was a compromise
A simple middle ground
All I could do was knock you down
My moves were calculated
I forced my face to look animated
How can an automaton betray its programming?
Don’t say I never wanted to change
I wish I wasn’t so strange
I’m a victim of my robotic tendencies
For this there are no remedies
Maybe one day I’ll become human
When all my dreams came true
I froze over and became blue
There was nothing else I could do
The demon inside poisoned my mind
Precautions made things worse
I returned to the deserts
You left me for a different course
I found myself a fantasy I found myself a fallacy
You saw my anxieties you saw my robotic tendencies
All you wanted was a compromise
A simple middle ground
All I could do was knock you down
My moves were calculated
I for
AsphyxiationIt’s easy to escape the harmony
When you are breaking mirrors
In hopes of becoming invisible
For this I ask you to pardon me
Before I fall into cruel chaos
Remember the aura I had owned
Keep it alive and carefully honed
I was the one who pierced you
With the voracious dagger
I always tried to distance myself
From the bone crushing guilt
Thinking I was an innocent victim
The past ricochets off the blank walls
Filling my feeble ears with siren calls
It’s the price I pay for reckless intuition
Now I lay in a cold state of asphyxiation
There’s no point in wishing for reversal
I’d surely find a way to ruin this again
The past ricochets off the blank walls
Filling my feeble ears with siren calls
It’s the price I pay for reckless intuition
Now I lay in a cold state of asphyxiation
I let my heart become hardened
By the imaginary dictator
He was unpleasantly relentless
On his quest to wreck me
I saw my face underneath his mask
My former self was so selfish
As he bl
VenomThe luster stops and fades away
We have reached our dying day
I wanted us to bloom gracefully
All we did was wilt so abruptly
I tried to run from the grey desolation
Spurred my own splendid migration
I intensified my agonizing devastation
Blank spaces surrounded my mind
I wanted to fill in what I could not find
When I failed my eyes went blind
A simple word unleashed the fire
Now snakes ascend my dry pyre
I fear the pain but not their bite
I feel their venom deep inside
I feel the venom burn inside
Our memories began to disintegrate
I allowed my own heart to incinerate
The end drove me to the jagged edge
All that saved me was an old pledge
I sought the penultimate prize
Left with this virulent demise
Time only healed small cuts
Not my now weakened guts
A simple word unleashed the fire
Now snakes ascend my dry pyre
I fear the pain but not their bite
I feel their venom deep inside
I feel the venom burn inside
I wanted to possess the impossible
All I did was create endless obstacles
The f

Twilight To TwilightMaybe one day I’ll hide the pain with stealth
If I can escape this state of bewilderment
You mutilated and marred my mental health
But I threw myself into this immurement
All I sense is ambiguity and decline
Oh how I yearn to be on cloud nine
Then the truth shoots me square in the face
I’ve been my own obstacle in this wild race
I finally see the end of this dark night
The sands of time must be free to disappear
I can’t keep looking for a way to erase memory
The past won’t make me shed another tear
I’ll follow the path from twilight to twilight
Feed The WolvesBetrayal has left me bleeding anger
All I can do is search for danger
Rage echoes throughout my body
From within I call upon an army of me
Everyone is yearning for information
They facilitate the vile infection
No one will sympathize anymore
They are all echoes rotted to the core
So I won’t feed the wolves tonight
Even if I drown in confusion and freight
Those wolves will starve tonight
Once the anger fades I fall to lassitude
Pleading with my own solitude
Searching among broken answers
Illogically trying to brighten matters
MelancholiaI sit alone biding my time and cleansing my heart
I try to sew together my life after it was torn apart
My head and senses have been overrun by melancholia
The happiness slowly leaves my fragile body
I’ve lost the once warm touch of joyful bliss
Wistfulness has become frozen on my weary face
My old self flees and I’m not ready for a long chase
I’m being expertly guided by sweet, sweet melancholia
Decline has begun to drag me down into sadness
What the hell happened to my exuberant happiness?
I’ve tried multiple times to write you my apologia
I keep scrapping it in favor of living with my melancholia
Now I’ve entered a labyrinth of depressing solitude


xXxRising-AngelxXx


PapercutRead between the lines,
Each scar tells a story,
Only spoken in verse.
Each line has a meaning.
There's a reason why I hide
This habit of mine
From most.
But some just fail to see
That sometimes, poetry
Can be written without words,
Just like scars
Can be made
With no pain.
ValorYou,
Carrying your world
On your back, you
Are a hero.
Trudging through life,
Step after step,
You will make it.
When gravity knocks you down,
Stand up for yourself, and
Just know that you're not alone,
Every hero has a sidekick.
There's always a helping hand,
Reaching out, even in the dark
When all seems out of sight.
Don't give up.
You're a hero, saving your world
With every step you take.
And with every day spent alive,
You have saved yourself again.
HypocriteYou spit fire with words,
But you call it disrespect
When I try to put out the flames,
You've burnt this house down,
But you say I'm wrong
When I hand you the ashes.
I've tried rebuilding with what remains
But you say it's not good enough
When I offer to make things right.

In Your EyesI'd rather be lost
In your eyes than
In my mind.
But when I left, I
Began searching for
What I could never find.
It took me time
To realize that
It was what I had left behind.
And in your eyes,
I saw the light,
To which I had gone blind.
BlindShe wore her smile
Broken.
No one could see
That she was
Falling apart.
Her eyes were always
Bright.
No one could see
The tears she
Refused to cry.
She was only dying
Inside.
No one could see
That maybe one day
Her body would catch
Up with her mind.
WorthlessI'll take comfort in
What I hate,
Sharp pain and this
Synthetic happiness.
It's all a lie.
I feel like the biggest actor
In the smallest theatre.
Worthless...
But when will my best ever be good enough?
I'll hide away in
What no one can find,
A place that no one
Can reach.
Not yet, at least.
I've never been good at
Saying goodbye.
But...
I don't have to make it a scene.


weirdnessandideas


Old LieThis old lie has become
a terrible habit of mine.
I’m suffering internally,
One day you’ll see.
I refuse to speak of it;
tragedies can’t be.
I wish I can say, “I’m not tired,”
and “I’m not okay.”
I want to cry on your shoulder
when I’m too weak.
I hope I can confront my demons --
those thoughts -- and rid them.
This old lie has become
a terrible habit of mine.
I’m suffering internally,
craving closure.
One day, I’ll get better,
One day, you will see it.
Time, IncessantI’m tuning in,
Tuning in to the ticking;
It’s strong, its heart
Beats proudly from
Its high throne
On the bland wall.
Subjects lie low in
Its superior presence.
Thin needles string
Numbers along, directing
And leading it’s soldiers
Towards a blissful new dawn.
The beating, it’s incessant;
The Monarch is a warrior,
Slaughtering all who stand
In between its destined goal
And himself. Time is fighting,
Fighting for gold luxuries.
Time, incessant, roars.
Voice loud, the Monarch
Conquers and waves its
Sword high above all,
And claims his new found
Territory. Long live Time.
sweet x'sRain has kissed my
cursed skin. Sweet
x’s marking
their claimed kingdoms.
Sweet x’s meld
the porcelain
together; lips
unsure to leave.
Lips bless the seals
keeping my skin --
my foundations
sturdy in turmoil.
Sweet x’s no
longer hold the
trauma of pasts.
They hold futures.

One AMSometimes
when I ascend
into the distance,
where the impossible
occur and the
beautiful become
d i v i n e,
I am brought back
like a magnet to
it’s partner;
I return to your side
at one am
because I adore
you, and care
for y o u.
I will break every
wall, and wake up
at any hour -- do
a n y t h i n g
for you.
When words cut deeperTo the fallen miracles that have sunk deep into the ocean graveyards, where slow, mental disintegration and physical, natural decomposition lie in wait for you,
Do not let your weary bones sink deep into the earth, where name plaques and headstones cannot reach you. Even though the dead outnumber the living, we all try to remember those who have died via name scribbling. Do not let yourself drown in the abyss of the missing, where anonymous black ghosts fill the empty spaces where names and faces should be. Do not allow yourself to be another tragedy: forgotten, and wanting to love and be loved.
Be selfish and leave your legacy, and do not let words reach and suffocate your heart’s most genuine intentions. Do not let the sanctity of your humanity be stolen by the rotting clutches of Death. Be affectionate and invigorate; pay your love to those who want it and not to the venomous villains, and fuel their desires with delicate words and heartfelt love of the utmost purity. Do not l
All that RemainsIn Robert Burns’s poem, To a Mouse, he speaks of nature losing to humanity. In Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck, he writes of nature reclaiming what man had stolen. And both speak of finding a homes, sanctuaries, on this earth. And both speak of the demolition of that sanctuary. And both could never be so true.
Crickets thrive and chirp, their songs full of victory and very little fear. The reeds are overwhelming the ponds, vegetation sprouting whenever the opportunity is given to them. Mankind has definitely gotten a massive setback; there is next to nothing of the once superior species left on this planet. And maybe this is a good change. Dawns and dusks are more vibrant, skies clearer due to the empty factories and power plants no longer sputtering out thick smoke of unhealthy greenhouse gases.
There are few stones dating the more recent deaths, and there’s been a lot of them too. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can hear their dying screams, of what


Diluculi


Nobody But MeNobody but me knows the truth
But don't worry, I won't tell
I promise I'll keep your secrets safe
Even from oblivion.
I'm the only one you can trust.
Nobody but me sees through you
Behind the veil of your lies
Which you tell yourself and the world
But you cannot fool me.
I'm the only one who knows you.
Nobody but me will stay here
After another failure
You'll make and drive them all away
I am all that you have
I'm the only one who will stay.
Nobody but me reminds you
Of all mistakes that you made
And points out the pointlessnesses
Of each try to change.
I'm the one who knows you best.
Nobody but me, I'm the one
I'm the only one for you.
You can't get rid of me, oh no!
I am your mirror
Showing every single flaw.
I am the whisper
In your head during the night.
And like a shadow
I will always be by your side.
Manhunters On The LooseManhunters on the loose, be aware, be aware
Manhunters on the loose, be aware
Manhunters on the loose, with lies meant to seduce
Loud squallers of half truth meant to scare, meant to scare
Loud squallers of half truths meant to scare.
We have to fight against them, so you cry, so you cry
We have to fight against them, so you cry
We have to fight against them, other humans you condemn
They are diff'rent, they're not us, they are wry, they are wry
They are diff'rent, they're not us, they are wry.
Manhunters in the streets, with their prey, with their prey
Manhunters in the streets with their prey
Manhunters in the streets dancing to the war drum's beat
(A) spider's smile for each fly they've led astray, led astray
(A) spider's smile for each fly they've led astray.
These manhunters I do see are not new, are not new
These manhunters I do see are not new.
These manhunters I do see, remind me of '33
Ghosts of a past that we should not redo, not redo
Ghosts of a past that we should not redo.
The CrashEv'ry time I see you now I still search for you eyes
I don't know really why though, there's nothing left to find
Guess I'll never learn it and even might never be wise
Enough to know our paths are not more entwined
Well, the trip is over and the car is fully wrecked
Thank you for ride so far but I walk the rest alone
The end could have been smother, but what did I expect
We are no careful drivers and that fact was not unkown
I cannot deny I walked away with a new scar
And have assumed that you did want to hit that wall
No longer do I care about why you had turned the car
I will not believe you, I spare us the squall
Well, the trip is over and the car is fully wrecked
Thank you for ride so far but I walk the rest alone
The end could have been smoother, but what did I expect
We are no careful drivers and that fact was not unknown
The years we spend together, they were an awesome time
Maybe we were doomed to fail right when they did begin
Two catastrophes had teamed up and that was our c

That SongGently, gently it's returning
Entering with the elegance
Of a dancer on light feet
Before you really know what's happened
The song already reached the soul
Quickly, quickly, it is freeing
All the memories pushed aside
With an innocent yet evil smile
And before you know what's happening
Everything comes back again.
I wish I could have been strong
As strong as you have been
I wish I could be that strong now
And remember without burning tears
You were weak and fragile
But calm, so calm and strong...
I wish I would not know this song
Which speaks to me of you
Which holds up a mirror to my face
This song he told me was his favourite
Back when he was still like my brother
Long before he suddenly abandoned me.
Gently, gently it's returning
Entering with the elegance
Of a dancer on light feet
The song I whish I could forget
Keeps on playing endlessly in my head.
I wish I could be strong
And just forget...
Sleeping BeautySleeping Beauty, let us wake you up
Without having us to put you back to sleep.
Sleeping Beauty, the world is changing
Around you and without you
Sleeping Beauty, your prince is gone
From your bedside, he cannot wait forever
The world is moving on and so does he
Sleeping Beauty, two years have passed already
Sleeping Beauty, time doesn't wait for you
There is no spell to keep you safe
You don't notice, but you're aging, too
While you're caught in a dreamless sleep
Sleeping Beauty, how long will this go on?
Please don't let us wait a hundred years
Or maybe, mabye I am wrong assuming
That you are cursed like the fairy tale princess
Maybe you are not Sleeping Beauty
But instead Snow White lying in her coffin
Made from glass and crystal by seven dwarves
And we didn't find the apple slice yet
Which is stuck in your throat
Oh, but how can we know?
The king's daughter sleeps like the dead
Alive, but unreachable for the living
And each time we try to bring you back
Your condition doesn't allow
Down The Lonely RoadHe's walking down the lonely road
Where nobody knows his name.
Only dust swirls around his feet
In boots with rusty spurs.
He passes by an empty house
Where now only ghosts reside,
Reflections of old memories
Of who they once had been.
The man walks down a lonely road
With one bullet left to shoot,
A name engraved into the shell;
The gun cannot shoot straight.
He walks the road until it ends
Nowhere in the desert's sand,
A cross made of two withered sticks
Bleached by the blazing sun.
He's walking down the lonely road
Where now only ghosts reside
Falls on his knees before the grave
Hands dig into the sand.
If you go down the lonely road
Somewhere in the desert's sand
You'll find a bullet on a grave
And the shell wears a name
Then follow down the jingling wind
'Till you reach a withered tree
Cut into the wood are the words:
"The man without a name"


trembling-knees


i don't want to hear you apologise anymorei wish the photos
i keep could talk to me,
like some damned harry
potter trick, just so i
could hear you say
you love me without
your voice breaking,
without hearing the
'but...' that never
made it past your lips
but lodged itself in
my throat anyway.
i just want to
hear you say it like
you mean it.
wilted petals on bedsheets and bathrobesi was full of
flowers, once.
soft blossoms and a
wild, arcing sky that
would have taken
your breath away.
but now i am
watching the
petals of my
skin swirl
down the drain
and thinking
about how
my depression
is a bodily
pesticide,
slowly stunting
all kinds of growth
until finally,
nothing tries to
grow anymore.
depression, againdays have
stopped being
days,
the guts
pulled out and
replaced
with empty sleep.
nights the same.
and the rest of
it leaves
a stale taste
on my sheets.

i forgot to remember you this yearaugust 24th
was just another day
this year.
i didn't buy
yellow carnations and
i didn't cry.
i don't know
if this means i'm
moving on or if
i'm forgetting
you were ever
here.
stained-heart loveryou have pressed
your hands across
the walls of my heart,
and now
everyone who
sees inside of me
falls in love
with the light left
behind by your
touch.
the truth isi write poetry,
       //
i make love.


Thanks for reading, and stay inspired I love deviantART!

Until next time. :heart:



Coding by SimplySilent


Daily Lit Recognition for January 30th, 2015

We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Recognition!
You can show your support by :+favlove:ing this News Article. 
Please comment and :+fav: the features and congratulate the artists!



Poetry

Featured by: chromeantennae
it's tricky, i knowi. (birds)
at the sound of holy footsteps they
snap open their wings without another thought.
they can see you out of the corners of
their trivial eyes. they chirp frantically to
each other and leap into the wind -
ii. (you)
the same wind that stirs your goddess
hair and blows it back, combining
with the force of twenty-two
pairs of feet behind you
pounding against the earth.
you are in a panic because
every door is closed and we're locked out,
and you can't just abandon us to find
help - you've got to lead us back
on your own, even though secretly
you, too, want to slip off your slip-ons and
frolic madly through the grassy fields and
spread your arms to caress the
wind that gently caresses
you. finally, you find a way in,
a place for us to slip, unnoticed and
silent, back to reality, and -
iii. (me)
i am the first one behind
you. the remnants of a
friendship composed of pig latin and
knotted, wheat-like blades of grass
slip out of my fingers, and you
fill the sudde

it's tricky, i know by peaseblossoms

The imagery and emotion of this piece is stunning. A beautiful piece of poetry.


Featured by: AyeAye12

Gastronomical choices meet philosophy in this great poem.



Prose

Suggested by: MagicalJoey
Featured by: TwilightPoetess

From the suggester: I don't usually like Six Word Stories but this one made me giggle. I like word-play.

Featured by doodlerTM
Kat's First Word            “Mark, can you put the Hibiscus acetosella in the jar with the Tagetes patula pattern?” Ellen Oakley said to her son. Ellen was currently busying herself at the window, tugging at her pretty, white-flowered Bellis perennis curtains.
            “You mean the Bush Violet one?” Mark asked, lifting a purple flower vase from the large collection on the kitchen table. Ellen shook her head at her thirteen-year-old son as his thin hands picked up each of the vases in turn. Mark was a spitting image of his mother; light brown hair, brown eyes, and skin the color of honeyed dinner rolls. Though he looked like her, however, he didn’t share her passionate interest in flowers. 
            “How many times do we have to go over this, Mark?” Ellen sighed, “The Tagetes p

A frolicking, enjoyable story about family and relationships.

Foreign Language


Featured by: Malintra-Shadowmoon
Nouriel, der Weltenwanderer by lucyfire71

Fantasy short story including the following moral according to the author:
Many people are called mad or insane for their fantasies - but only those who are able to walk between the worlds, are really free in spirit and soul.


For more information, including how to suggest a Deviation 
to be featured, please visit us at DailyLitRecognition.

Thanks so much for supporting the lit community and this project!

~ The DailyLitRecognition Team ~


Prepared by: doodlerTM


Skin by SimplySilent

Thirty years after Freddy Fazbear's Pizza closed it's doors, the events that took place there have become nothing more than a rumor and a childhood memory, but the owners of "Fazbear's Fright: The Horror Attraction" are determined to revive the legend and make the experience as authentic as possible for patrons, going to great lengths to find anything that might have survived decades of neglect and ruin. 

At first there were only empty shells, a hand, a hook, an old paper-plate doll, but then a remarkable discovery was made... 

The attraction now has one animatronic.
=========≠=========≠==========================

Ron: did you hear about the fazbear pizza

Jake:  I have an Idea

Ron: what is your idea

Jake : fazbear frights...I heard that there  selling animatronics at Freddy's

Ron: okay let's see  fazbear pizza



Two weeks later they arrive at Freddy's fazbear pizza


store manager: ah....hello

Ron: we heard that you were selling your animatronics

Jake: we.....will take them

store Manager: ah......... No for sale........ they're not for sale

Jake: why not

Store manager: you don't know what the capable..... capable of doing

Ron: we're going to destroy them for metal

Store manager: you don't want these........you will regret it

Jake: just give us the dam robots

Store manager: NO NO NOT OVER my dead body

-----------------:---------------------------
Years went by in days decayed and the animatronics
left in the  neglect and ruin, dust and drit
--_--------------:-----------'-----------------------

Jake: there gone.......  

Ron: let take them
)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))







"It's a nice day out. I should enjoy myself." Crowpetal fiddling with her fingers gently as she spoke to herself, sitting on a damp bench. It had rained for the past few days, and finally the sun was shining and there was a lovely rainbow shimmering in the sky, but Crowpetal didn't feel like celebrating. Why should she, when her mother was in the hospital in a coma? Smoothing out her pale yellow skirt, she leaned her head back and gazed up at the sky. It was so hard to be the sweet little optimisti girl now, when she was kid it was so much easier to hide her feelings. She stayed on the bench for quite some time, when a voice spoke.

"May I sit here?"

Crowpetal blinked, looking up at the guy in front of her. "Oh, su-sure..." She murmured, averting her eyes. She recognized him. He went to her school, and she only talked to him once which really did not go very well, really only got his name, which was Shadowfade and a few bitter words on his part. His messy
 hair was a dark grey almost black color, he had two bad scars on both of his eyes, blinding him. "J-Just don't look at him..." She told herself, keeping her gaze on the long skirt she wore. Despite what her mind has said, she felt her gaze shifting from her pastel skirt to his face. When he turned his gaze towards her, she felt her face heat up with embarrassment and she quickly looked away. "Even if he cant see, its still so unnerving..." Those cold, distant eyes....

"Your Crowpetal, right?" He asked suddenly, making the young girl jump slightly.

"..Y-yes, how did you.."

"You sounded familiar." He cut her off short and simple. Could he really know her name just by her voice? Her face turned a faint pink as she stared at Shadowfade. Even with those scars, he looked so handsome. She blinked, and shook her head mentally. No Crowpetal, Don't think like that!" She told herself, gripping her skirt and wrinkling it slightly. The two sat there in silence, which only made Crowpetal all the more nervous. Everyone in awhile, she would turn her head around and glance at him, before she would go back to looking down at her lap.

"What's your favorite color?" Crowpetal asked suddenly, still keeping her gaze locked onto her lap.

"Huh?" Shadowfade, blinked his sightless yes, confused by the question. After so much silence, he had thought that it would stay like that for the rest of the day. "My favorite color?"

"Ye-yeah... Mother always said that you should start a conversation by asking a simple question..." Crowpetal mumbled, finally willing herself to look up. Shadowfade stared in her direction.

"Blue, dark blue." He said finally, making a smile tug at the corner of Crowpetal's lips. "I like the color green." She explained, biting her lower lip. She glanced up at the darkening sky for a moment, before she gently lifted herself off the bench. "I need to get home, I have chores I have to do still." She admitted, smoothing out her skirt for the trillionth time. After she was done, she turned around to face Shadowfade, a smile on her face. "I'll see you on Monday." She exclaimed, and instead of waving, she gently grabbed his hand and shook it. "Goodbye." She said in her cheerful tone, then turned around and began to go on her way, when the same hand she had shook in goodbye grabbed her arm quickly, yet ever so gently at the same time. Crowpetal let out a small squeak, turning around quickly in surprise as she stared at Shadowfade's eyes.

"W-Wait!" Shadowfade whispered, now standing. "Maybe I could help you. With those chores, I mean. I'd hate for you to um, have to do them on your own." He suggested, still clinging on to her arm. Crowpetal blinked, the surprise in her eyes vanishing with a gentle smile. "Really? That would be wonderful, but...." She used her free hand and gently tore his hand off of her arm. "I cant really let anyone in the house without permission from...from mother." She bit her lip, averting her gaze to the ground. "Oh why me, why now? Why is this world so cruel?!" Shadowfade must have sensed the tension and hesitance in her voice, because he tilted his head and with a hand, lifted Crowpetal's chin up for her to look at him.

"Crowpetal, whats wrong?" He asked, his voice was rough, yet it was filled with concern, making Crowpetal blush a shade of red, and tears began to stream down her cheeks.

"I-Its not fair...!" She mumbled, sniffing as she tried to hold back more tears that threatened to fall from her soft blue eyes. "Mother never did anything w-wrong!" Shadowfade's face softened from his usual frown. "I sh-should of been the one in the coma, no-not Mother! I w-was the o-one who ran in f-front of that car, Mommy should still be here!" She sobbed, her voice only rising as she spoke.

Suddenly, Crowpetal felt arms wrapping around her in a hug, and being pulled forward until she was right on Shadowfade's heart, and could hear it beating. "Stop crying, Crowpetal." Shadowfade whispered softly, gently petting the top of her curly bed of hair. "It's alight. The important thing is that you are okay, and your mother didn't loose her daughter." These words soothed Crowpetal's mind, and though tears still slid down her cheeks, she managed to stop her wails, hiccuping softly as she nuzzled his chest, closing her eyes. "There...." Shadowfade whispered, leaning his head down slightly. Hours passed by, and Crowpetal still couldn't bare to let go of Shadowfade's shirt, she wanted him to just stay with her, take care of her and love her. Cherish her and tell her that no matter what happens he wont leave her. Why did this have to happen? To her, of all things. She had never felt so strong about a guy and yet....

"Are you feeling better?" Shadowfade's voice woke her from her thoughts, looking up at him she closed her eyes and smiled weakly. "Yes... I think I'll be fine now." She answered quietly, and hesitantly backed away from Shadowfade. Already she missed his touch. His warmth. The feeling of being protected at no cost, the sound of his beating heart. She bit her lower lip, her face reddening as her thoughts were nothing but him. Shadowfade nodded, though he looked so unsure, and his expression made Crowpetal's stomach churn with so many emotions, she could hardly count. Why, out of all the guys in the world, did she feel this way about him?

"I suppose I'll see you later then." Shadowfade's words made Crowpetal freeze up slightly, her face a deep shade of red, she was partly glad he couldn't see her, she was a mess after not only crying her heart out, but now she was as red as an apple. "O-Oh...right, yes. Later." She murmured, then Shadowfade smiled and waved goodbye to her, before he turned around and carefully began walking away. Crowpetal stood there for a few moments, before she too lifted her hand and delicately waved goodbye.

Crowpetal gently closed the door behind her, then turned around and leaned against the door frame, letting out a deep sigh of relief, her heart calmed down and she could finally think straight now that she was far away from him. Sitting there for a few more minutes, she willed herself to get up and get to her chores. She wanted the place to be spotless if, no, when her mother was all better. Picking up a few dirty dishes off her mother's work desk, she headed to the kitchen and placed them in the dishwasher, her eyes scanned the kitchen, when her eyes came across the fridge where a picture of her mother, and herself were holding hands behind a tree. She turned her gaze away and continued to clean the house in silence. Once she was done, Crowpetal collapsed into her bed, sore all over from all the work she had done. "Goodnight, mommy..." She said silently, closing her eyes as she drifted off to sleep.
luminescent0513 
This lovely lady is one of my favorite deviants on the site and she's been here for about a year! 
She's super kind && always helpful. 
The main reason we're here though: her writing. Is. Beautiful. Have you ever stopped by for a read? No?! Do it! Or at least stick around for my interview with her! 
In this interview feature you'll get a taste of who she is as a poet, why she writes, some of her favorite poets here, and more! 
So sit back, relax, and read on! 
:heart:

Starting off I asked her to give me her favorite poem that she's ever written && tell me why!

Favorite devation from herself Bronze Girli. my hair is not brunette
and i am not a blond but
somewhere in between
a strange bronze with golden
sunshine highlights hanging mid-spine
parted on the    
                                                                                                            left
with bangs over the right eye
ii. my eyes are windows to my soul
you can read my feelings in these
too big offices that glisten much to often
they are a strange bronze too,
with matching sunshine highlights but
the have strange black lines around them
and darkened lashes and occasional color bursts on top
iii. my nose is not extraordinary
it simply exists
iv. cupid can’t shoot couples anymore because
i've stolen his bow and put it in my mo

Inspired by some of her friend’s writing on a body image project, this is her favorite piece because she says “it’s the most honest thing I’ve probably ever written”. 
&& As I went on to read this later after she sent it to me via note I can tell why she favors this poem out of all her others. Writing about yourself is sometimes one of the hardest things you can do, because honestly who is perfectly happy with the way they are all the time?
In this piece she addresses just about every aspect of herself: stating facts and then adding emotion and opinion. 
Overall it's an extremely beautiful, heartfelt, and amazing piece that everyone should definitely check out! 

Onward to Six Questions I asked This Lovely Lady!

   1.       How did you first come upon deviantart?
I was looking for reference pictures on Google and following the links actually... and then I started looking around a bit more and couldn't leave.

   2.       When did you first start getting interested in writing?
I have notebooks with little stories and stick figure drawings from when I was probably 5. It's been an on and off thing and poetry is still a recent obsession, it used to be a lot of prose.

    3.       Ultimately I’m curious about why you chose to share your works with the community (?)/and or what has motivated you to share your work with us all. Some people chose to share for acknowledgement, others for critiques from other experienced writers, and some for fun, and I’m curious as to your view point!
Um, that's a fabulous question. It was mostly because I thought 'If other people have the confidence to put their stuff up, I can to'. So a combination of fun and acknowledgement and having people who I didn't see daily to talk to about life.

    4.       Do you enjoy writing? And or do you enjoy what you write? Why or why not?
I love writing. Poetry comes to me sorta mindlessly while prose takes more effort, but I love writing almost all the time (essays are a whole other story...). As for enjoying what I write... Sometimes. Writing is a coping method for me so when I come across old work it brings back memories, which aren't always fun so that work is harder for me to like.

   5.       Do you have any advice to give to other writers here in the lit community?
Advice? Uh, write about what you like and not what other people want. Grammar is great for prose, but the rules sorta go out the window for poetry. If you are passionate about what you're writing and you put all your emotions into it people will feel that. And practice if you want to get better, practice a lot.

   

   6.       And last but not least do you have any writers here in the lit community that you really enjoy the work of? Anyone you think deserves more attention for their work?
Yes! So so many, there are tons of really talented people here. My personal favorites are wildfirepen, LadyBitterblue, Entitaria, and DynamiteHearts . There are tons of others though, I could go on forever with talented poets and artist and writers.

Now we move on to some deviations from other deviants that she would like everyone to see!

the wanderer i never wasand i'd carry the empty space on my shoulders
with pride had i ever been there:
to the green blankets and the clear blue skies and a solitude at the side of the road.
there are barricades, worth climbing, and sometimes
i can almost feel their cold under my hands, i can
almost see myself running through fields barefoot -
i can almost.
never astray.
let me take you on an afternoon adventure;
see i know of a place where the hills say home,
the trees grow not too tall lest they might intimidate you,
and though i don't remember the names there i remember
how they're all humble, warm, familiar,
like country families insisting you stay just for lunch and then a little longer.
you're always almost home.
let me take you with me, let me laugh and run and jump on rocks -
just follow.
we can make flower crowns for each other, drink of nettles like we're a tea party
and we're not quite fairies but happy people, happy
like snapshots taken when you're unaware.
we could be just us.
butterfly"Must I change to be beautiful?"

they told me no one could love a girl with scars.i told them that i could love myself. To you with glass shard heart and paper skin               You will climb and mount his lips and taste every syllable of his words just to find a space where you could fit in; you will press your fingers onto symphonies of black and white cacophonous outrage just because your mind is a cosmic explosion and a catastrophic cyclop. You're a shipwreck that crushes yourself into graveyards and you cry yourself into a smudged mascara and glassy eyed mess just to hope for one day you'll justify your existence without hurting yourself anymore. And when your tornado eyes come gushing down in watershed tears at every nightfall, you will climb behind brick walls and tear stained diaries and cry and blame the world and demand an ocean of apologies.
               Even so, the world will only give you silence. I'm sorry the war had not ended for you. I'm sorry you had to cry in asphalt dust and gun fire smoke. I'm sorry you're suffocated in liquor fumes because n

 

recorded by a soul swallowed by scoured cathedralsthe lights were always down
no signal in drugchoked air, we shatter
furious highs, we shatter
piano strings by a stage of electric
loving carelessly was not
a passive decision
the lights were always down
ragged-eyed we
the hallucinogeneration
tear miserable hair in
manic-fuelled ecstasy / ecstasy-fuelled mania
panic in bloodied dancing shoes
the lights were always down
stagger to the deadboys with marijuana
the star kissers bid goodbye
cynicism is a dancing girl
she laughs too much
and it doesn't reach her eyes
the lights were always down
driftwood is a shitty lifeboat, turns out
cinematic vista spirals into closeclosecloseness--
kaleidoscope and cocaine, but
if you were a bad habit
you'd be cigarettes and cities, quiet deaths
the lights were always down
i lie down at the shrine worshipped
by infidels and the nightmarish
we would be window silhouettes
if only we had windows, but we lie
in fields and bitten lips
the lights were always down
we are underworld royalty
androgynous i flatlin
breaking the heart of a poetwe are sensitive souls
our hearts are vast and complicated and reckless
we notice things other people don't
we are the wallflowers, but
we see and participate more
with our minds that anyone could do 
with their mouths.
we notice the little things
the muted details about people
the small things that make them beautiful--
we also see what's ugly
the mistakes and selfishness
and love it just as much.
our hearts are honey 
we spill ourselves, slowly
once we drip out
we are sticky, messy
and it's difficult to wipe us off of you.
we are gentle souls
but if you break our trust, you break us
we shatter outward in glass stars
we are the dazzling sky you see every night
we are the name sang in the breeze
we are the honey stuck on your lip.
i hope you can't look at her without seeing me.


&& Last but not least here are some of my favorite deviations from her!

there's fresh bloodand god (you unresponsive bastard)
damn it
three months is so good &
december would have marked
half of a full year, so close
which sort of sucks when
you
get
t
h
r
o
w
n
all the way back to day z.e.r.o
and all my white lines
are turning red again
because it was too hard
for them to fade from
white
to
olive
and my skin wants
to breath more than I do
Lessons From the GuysI. Almost Absent Father
  a. Don't quit anything until you've
     seen the season through or
     accomplished your goal
  b. Gone half the time or not,
     people expect to know
     everything about you
II. Crude Ball Player
   a. The first step to making friends
      is understanding the dirty jokes
   b. The first person to claim they love you
      is probably lying & will talk when you leave
III. Working Milk & Cookies Grandpa
    a. Don't get tattoos
       because they last
       forever
    b. Cook breakfast early
       to score points and
       enjoy the peace
IV. Half Mexican, Half Beautiful
   a. People don't always
      appreciate
      others standing up for them
   b. Sometimes someone will l

ivi smoke sadness like a cigarette
i suck in the sorrow and the pain and
then i exhale before repeating the process
(i think it's becoming an addiction)
Fireflieslittle living stars dance through the night
when you were young we'd catch them mid-flight
put them in a jar to place by your bed
on the table standing beside your head
you always hoped that an easy night of sleep
would come from those creatures you'd keep
(shame you always forgot to put holes in the jar's lid)

 

Leave a Message...Yes of course
... I'll tell 'er when she's back
But the brain 'll have analyze it
'Cause we both know
What happened last time
I gave 'er the message
She doesn't want a repeat performance
(We don't 'ave the money for doctor's bills as is)
Shards of Honied IceHe liked whispering sweet
Words so that I would lean in.
I didn't mind (I knew
They were empty promises)
My words were always written
His always said (After time
They weren't quite as sweet)
Most days they ended up
Being the flavor of ice with
A candy coating layer of honey
Made by his own brand of killer bees


 
&& that concludes this Super Special Interview Feature With... ! 
I hope you all enjoyed && hopefully found something you could enjoy reading! 
&& a big thank you to luminescent0513 for joining me in this feature! 
You're a lovely woman && an amazing poet! Never forget that. :heart: 

Peace out, y'all. 
:iconlovesplz:



Thumbstyles by SimplySilent | Skin by hypermagical
  • Mood: Homicidal
  • Listening to: hymn for the shameless

Hago lo que puedo
y me quedo en el intento
Necesito encontrarte
apenas y te tengo a mi lado

Desconozco quien eres quien fuiste
pero no me importa
ya debo suponer que
este camino lo pasaras por ti
y no querras llevarme a tu lado

Apesar de ello
te sigo los pasos y
Decido que lo mejor
sera ir detras tuyo
Nada se pierde
tampoco se gana nada pero
no sera facil borrarte de mi
sin siquiera saber de ti
a donde te diriges
y porque te vas sin mi..

T.A.K

hey uh :iconjacobg130rulez: :iconluigix1122: and :iconyoko-ky0: mind if i make a shipping post of yous and me ocs?
wut im doing:
JacobxMisty
YanixErick
MistyxSavvy...
anyone mind?
(ok so I am currently making an rpg game called There's A Way, and well I guess this is an introduction to what you would expect..? Well, tell me what you think and if I should continue more of the story at any given time, if its before or after the game xD okay here goes my sucky writing skills. If you want this just a fanfiction and not a game, let me know, the game has barely anything except an intro PS: this is Canada's POV. PPS: //'s is thoughts. Enjoy~)


|one day ago|

"How have you been, France..? It's been so long since I last visited...I hope the snow doesn't bother you much, it's not that bad, right?"
I stand in the freezing cold, the snow biting my nose. In front of me is a headstone with the name engraved 'Francis Bonnefoy' in big bold lettering. In front of the headstones is already placed flowers, but oddly with no snow on them. This cemetery is just built, so barely any headstones are there. The owner of the cemetery has kids, and they built a snowman right by the stones. I don't know if I should feel happy or angry that they did that. "Snow doesn't bother me much..well, I always have snow," I lightly chuckle, "it's funny how it is snowing, but the flowers are untouched. That's..kind of how i know this headstone is yours." I feel tears fill my eyes; I can barely see the headstone. "I-I uh...I promised to myself I-I wouldn't get emotional, but I guess that's a promise I can never keep." I stutter out. I quickly blink my eyes so the tears can fall and I can continue, "It isn't the same without you...you know? Even England misses you, even when he doesn't admit it, we all can tell..it's just..quieter.." All of a sudden- //Shit! I forgot my flowers!// I feel the tears coming back and my throat slightly getting hoarse. //How could I forget?! I have to tell him!// "I accidentally forgot my flowers..I'm sorry. Tomorrow, I will bring them to you, I promise. As soon as the meeting is over, I'll stop by." I smile slightly. I need to leave or else I won't get up in the morning, I know myself too well. "I better go..." I start to walk away, but I need to prove I would come to him. I turn around and smile, "See you tomorrow, yea?" I finally walk off heading to my car to drive home.
No one knows how France died, or when he died..someone found him already dead in his house.
No one knows why...
...he just....
...died.....

(It's short, but that's the intro. hope yall like it ^^ tell me your thoughts, yea?)
  • Mood: Neutral
Willow was sitting on the couch reading a teen romance novel.....or so you would think. She stared at the book as she flipped the page ever so often. 

"Damn, how are those real?" She said to herself quietly. Donnie walk into the living room and noticed this.

"Uh, whatcha doing there?" He asked. She spazzed out and threw the book in the air, it landing on the other side of the room. She held her hand to her cheek as she tried to look natural. 

"Nothing!"

"Do I want to know?" He asked. 

"Noooo."

"Alright, then," Donnie said simply as he left the room. Willow exhaled deeply and picked up the book, proceeding to stare at the pages. I had been walking into the room at this point. 

"Hey, Willow," I greeted her. 

She quickly slammed the book and held it close to her, "What?! I'm not looking a pictures of Stein!"

"Um, I never asked," I said slowly. I gave her a weird look. "Did you seriously make a scrapbook of Stein and hide it in the cover of a Twilight book?"

"YOU HAVE NO PROOF!"

"Oh yeah? Then what's this?" I asked her as I held a picture of Stein I picked up off the floor. 

"Um..A picture of Stein without his shirt on while training."  

"And what's it doing on the living room floor?"

"Well, technically it's in your hand now."

I frowned, "Forget it. I'm going upstairs." I walked away. Willow continued to flip through her book. "Where the hell did you get those pictures anyway?"

"I own a camera," She stated.

I shook my head as I went upstairs, "You need help."

[Meanwhile]

"Sir! We've found Jager's location!" Erwin yelled. 

"Really?  Well, it only took you four months," Levi stated before following him. "Where the others?"

"Dead."

"What? Seriously?"

"Nah, I'm just kidding. They're all having a picnic by the lake," He said. Levi looked by the lake.

"WHO'S UP FOR A WET T-SHIRT CONTEST!"

"MEEEEE!"

Sasha stood up with a bottle in hand, "WHO ELSE IS TOTALLY SHIT FACED RIGHT NOW!?"

"EVERYONE BUT ARMIN!"

Bertholdt raised his bottle, "WHO DARES ME TO SKINNY DIP!"

"EVERYONE! GOD DAMNIT! YES!!!!"

"What about me?!" Jean whined.

"Eww god no. Go kill yourself,  Jean."

"Aww," He whined.

"Hmm, yes. So it seems." Levi stated. "Now, take me to Jager."

"Yes, sir."

[Meanwhile]

"Alright. So I just have to kill some flying dinosaur. Seems pretty simple, " Taren said as he finished reading the mission report. 

[Meanwhile at the house]
"I have a plan," Maka said quietly. 

Soul turned to her, "for what?"

"Warrior and Jason are just friends right now. And we're going to fix that."

"I don't like where this is going," Soul groaned. Maka hit him lightly. 

"You're helping me, Soul."

"Just what do you intend on doing, " he questioned her. Maka smiled evilly. "No. No, no, no, no. I see that look in your eyes. I'm not doing it, Maka."

"Please?"

"No. I'm not playing the piano."

"I'll reward you later if you do it."

".....Fine."

She gave him a kiss, "Thank you, Soul." He simply groaned. 

[Meanwhile]

"It's the circle of life!  And you'll lose control.  So I stole something from Soul!"

"Blackstar! You had one job!" I yelled from upstairs.

"Damn, bitch! How does she do that?" He muttered.

[Somewhere else]

"And how does that make you feel?" The therapist asked. 

"Confused," Mikasa stated plainly. 

"Yes. And how does that make you feel?"

"Uh, I just said confused."

"And how does that make you feel?"

"Is that all you can say?!"

"And how does that make you feel?"

"F**k this shit! I'm leaving!" She yelled before exiting the room. The therapist nodded gently as he stared at the wall.

"And how does that make you feel?"
  • Mood: Tired
  • Listening to: Savior (Rise Against)
  • Reading: this story
  • Drinking: water